Grand Central

I've never been to grand central station, I've never been to New York In that manner I feel as though I have Each and every look in your eye A waterfall of sight A sense of holding on to something that I've never quite held on to. Privileged I felt invited Nothing much to do Sharing a plate of solemn stares Neat folded napkins morsels of thought Tasted; retasted Ordered in haste Perhaps it's the hope of holding on to something A present wonder soon to become future past No longer a reminder of empty hallways A Lack of empathy now filled with each other's presence Across a table three shades of red Varnished in clear coat Lamented with crumbs and coffee stains Padded iron wrought seat Neat tiled floor The press of nicotine against scented lips Listening to the way you talk Winged heels Exploring a Cathedral of thought beside a pillar of marriage proposals Lovers running late, lost luggage. The coming and passing of faces The unraveling of plastic; the sound of smacking lips And here we are with nothing better to do; Watching life through another's eyes